


Magnetic

by wreathed



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-01
Updated: 2008-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeremy and Richard have sex against a fridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetic

**Author's Note:**

> Rewrite: 13th February 2011.

Jeremy felt a sense of relief wash over him as he, finally, emptied his inbox of unread e-mails and shut down his laptop. Now he could go home, though he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to or not. Perhaps he should stay over in London.

Offices were odd with no-one in them hard at work (or not, as the case may be); pale empty shells, littered with pens and executive toys, none of the lights left on. He should definitely go _somewhere_. It was far too late to still be here, nobody else was around.

Or so he thought.

"Hammond!" he called out, as Jeremy saw Richard enter from the corridor and begin to busy himself at the kitchenette their office used for microwaving soup and making tea. The light in the room dimmed suddenly once Richard had shut the fridge door. His expression was now only just discernable to Jeremy, lit by the streetlight shining through the window. Richard had a sort of _rumpled_ look to him in the almost-darkness, like he’d just got out of bed or he’d just been pressed against the wall and _don’t think about that now_.

Jeremy cleared his throat. "I thought you’d already gone, like the sensible people. With _lives_ and such things."

Richard snorted. "You implying I’m sensible? I’ve never trusted your judgement, and I certainly don’t now." He paused for a moment, then answered properly. "Na, I’ve just been finishing up some stuff. And, er, yeah." Apparently there was nothing more to say. But why then were both of them still stood in the boring room, both stalling, both filling time exchanging words that were almost meaningless?

Jeremy – perhaps the darkness made it easier – experimentally, uncharacteristically tentatively, took a step closer towards Richard and felt more than ever like he was looming over him, taller, older.

The room was small and Jeremy was already close enough to Richard to speak softly and still be heard. "You don’t need to be at home, do you?"

Richard looked up, eyes wider than usual, as if he was trying to work out a difficult puzzle. "No."

"Good," Jeremy replied, still throwing around arrogant, aimless syllables. The room was silent, apart from two sets of painfully telling, too-loud breathing, and the intrusive hum of the large but cheap fridge that Richard was standing right in front of, Jeremy mere inches away from him.

Jeremy glanced at the clock on the wall for something to glance at that wasn’t Richard’s throat, vulnerable, highlighted by the selecting light. He noted the late hour. Too late in the day for rational thought or logical action. So Jeremy kissed Richard on the lips, hands possessively pinning him to the front of the fridge. The angle was awkward and the fridge far too annoyingly audible, and Richard was so shocked that he froze, cold, for several seconds. But it was alright as far as kisses go, more than alright when Richard loosened his mouth a little and allowed Jeremy’s tongue to slide in. Jeremy moved even closer towards him and could feel Richard growing hard inside his jeans because of what they were doing, and both the thought and the actuality of that was hotter than he thought it could be, before. He’d thought of this before.

The streetlight flickered once as Jeremy pulled off Richard’s trendy jacket and shirt, wanting to be able to see more of Richard’s body. With one of Richard’s shirtsleeves still not quite removed, clothes hanging off his body in a way that said _debauchery_ , Jeremy palmed Richard’s crotch; he wanted to see Richard moan. Richard biting his bottom lip, half-stifling his sound of pleasure, wasn’t something Jeremy planned on making Richard do. It was unexpected but not unwanted. It was a challenge: what will Jeremy have to do to make Richard come undone? Make him come?

Richard, supposedly realising that Jeremy shouldn’t automatically have the upper hand, belatedly reached upwards and fumbled with Jeremy’s t-shirt. Their clothes crumpled together on the linoleum, Richard moved to take off Jeremy’s jeans, the next logical step, but stopped when he pulled on Richard’s hair and kissed him again, pushing him up against the fridge once more as if to reiterate a point. Teeth clashed, punctuation in their argument, until Richard finally tilted his head away. He met Jeremy’s eyes and waited for Jeremy to make a move, conclude his reasoning.

*

Jeremy _smirked_ as he sunk to his knees, joints clicking, adding to the sounds of the fridge and the vanishing light and Richard breathing in short bursts. Richard could feel his back cold against the fridge, and suddenly he felt the same cold trace across his thighs as Jeremy pushed down his trousers and boxers in one fluid movement. His hands were almost but not quite close enough, the sensations they caused adding to the beating heat Richard felt between his thighs.

Jeremy looked up at Richard looking down at him, a role reversal of some sorts, and Richard’s pupils were dilated from seeing _Jeremy Clarkson on his knees_. Richard’s erection was rigid in front of Jeremy’s face; Jeremy’s mouth was opened slightly as if what was happening in front of him was a little incomprehensible. He quickly licked his lips and Richard’s cock twitched, making Richard’s eyes close for a second in an effort not to come merely from the way that Jeremy was _looking_ at him.

Finally, Jeremy engulfed Richard’s cock in the heat of his mouth, and now hot and cold were ever more pronounced, pitted against each other in a race. Jeremy hollowed his cheeks and sucked and Richard desperately wanted to thrust forward into him, his requirement greater than his control. Jeremy held his hips down.

Richard was impatient as ever, needing more; arms bent at the elbows, braced to steady his body, hands gripping the sides of the fridge, the tension visible in the line of his bare arms.

"For–" Richard broke off as Jeremy sucked again, hard "For fucks sake, Jeremy."

As if this was the command Jeremy had been waiting for, he flicked his tongue over Richard’s head and traced one finger over the spot where his legs met at the back. Richard came, didn’t bite his lip this time, let his eyes close in his release. Jeremy swallowed, and at some time during Richard’s litany of _fuck fuck fuck_ Jeremy came, actually _came_ in his trousers from being both subservient and controlling. For a moment Richard’s vision was blurred as he and Jeremy stayed as they were for a while. Jeremy could hear breathing and the electrics of the fridge again, and the clock ticking, a sound he hadn’t noticed before.

Richard was unprepared for Jeremy’s voice being right inside his ear, inside his head. Jeremy must have stood up. "Next time, I’m going to fuck you, Richard." If Richard had been near the brink of orgasm then, the darkness and the _intent_ and Jeremy saying his name in a voice low with lust would have pushed Richard over the edge; now, Richard nonetheless felt a new pulse of arousal wash over him from the feeling of insinuation, of dirty promise.

Sweat on Richard’s back, a result of exertion, meant that when he stood up straighter, away from the humming fridge door, he did so with a plastic sound, his body unsticking, peeling away.

As Richard turned to leave, a sly look crossed Jeremy’s face, as though a brilliant thought had just occurred to him.

*

They were in the _Top Gear_ office after a day’s filming. Jeremy and Richard were alone together in a quiet room.

"I can’t believe you managed to call me a fridge magnet during filming. Twice."

"Three times," Jeremy corrected Richard. "It’s a good description." He dropped his voice. "There was a substantial force holding you to that fridge."

Richard raised an eyebrow. "I don’t think that third mention was broadcastable. It doesn’t count."

"Next time."

"Sorry?"

"Do you – do you want the mentioned ‘next time’?" Jeremy sounded odd, unsure. Now he was the one working out a puzzle.

"I’d rather not, to be honest mate." There was a substantial pause. "How about my flat instead?"

Jeremy would have looked relieved, if it wasn’t for the way he leant closer, _leering_ and looming this time. "Are you sure, Hammond? Because I’m sure I saw some butter in that kitchen somewhere..."


End file.
